


ignore everybody else (we're alone now)

by jhem211



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-10-23 09:24:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10716630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhem211/pseuds/jhem211
Summary: Cat Grant is just looking for a little release.





	1. One

Cat Grant is at the bitter end of a terrible day. She gazes out the window of The Peninsula, National City’s most exclusive hotel, and all she sees is the one thing no longer there.

Carter left this morning to go live with his father, and the day has been spiraling out of her control ever since.

_“It’s just for a little while, mom. Just a year,” he said. “I just want to know, you know?”_

And Cat gets it. She does. Carter’s father is exactly the type of person that everyone just wants to know. But he’s also a cypher, never in one place long enough to allow anyone to master his code.

Cat tried. Valiantly. It’s one of the few failures she’s forgiven herself because while Josh traveled around from war zone to war zone providing medical care for those in desperate need, he never forgot a birthday, a holiday, or a scheduled Skype call even when bombs were falling in the distance. He’s a good man who believes every kid, not just his kid, deserves his best. And the truth is, Cat’s always had a secret soft spot for unequivocally good hearts.

Now Josh has been sidelined for a year, recovering from injuries sustained while throwing himself over a child who was too sick to move as the surrounding city was in was attacked by rebels. For a vacation, he’s working with NASA in an effort to set up a space triage program for that one day when humans finally land on another planet.

Of course Carter wants to spend time with him. What kid wouldn’t? But that still leaves Cat at the tail end of a terrible day with her son halfway across the country and nothing but an empty home waiting for her.

The last thing Cat wants is to be alone tonight. While she has acquaintances that will happily entertain her with drinks and barbed commentary, she finds she wants something a bit more bracing. A bit more filling. Something that allows her brain a respite from thinking about the things she doesn’t have and the things she can’t currently be. To fill the void, she dialed a number known only by the most elite in the country and ordered relief delivered to her door.

When it arrives, it’s with a knock that’s deliberate. Three succinct taps.

Cat opens the door and doesn’t quite know what to make of what she finds on the other side: a beautiful young woman with blonde hair wearing a yellow button down, tailored black tuxedo pants, and a bright blinding smile so full of innocence, Cat wants to gag.

“You’re Keira?” Cat sneers, and the young woman nods. “I asked for the best,” Cat says.

“Yes, Miss Grant, you did.”

Cat narrows her eyes, studies the girl from head to toe and finds her extremely lacking.

“You can leave.” Cat turns around, and walks back into the room, hearing the door close behind her. She heads back to the window and gazes out. It makes sense that even this can’t go right today. That she’d start the day with heartbreak and finish it thoroughly dissatisfied with every second that passed.

“I like to stare at the stars too.”

The soft voice startles Cat. “What are you still doing here?” she snaps, turning her head to see Keira standing just behind her.

“I just want to help you, Miss Grant. Will you allow me to do that?” Keira asks.

Cat turns around as Keira slowly unbuttons her shirt. She reveals rock hard abs and a lacy yellow bra that seems at odds with one another and yet Cat’s eyes are stuck there.

“And how are you going to help me?” Cat asks, pulling her eyes up.

“By filling you up,” Keira says with sincere intensity.

Cat clenches at the words and the sudden onslaught of desire running through her body is destructive.

Cat Grant wants lots of things. Some mundane like coffee at the perfect temperature. Like Clooney to stop lauding the fact that she actually loves his godforsaken tequila over her. Some important, like providing Carter with a life full of all the things she missed as a child: warmth, happiness, security. Some outrageous like running for president just because she can.

Cat is always hungry. Always chasing the next big thing. Success. Accolade. Rinse and repeat. It’s all so easy, when all she really wants is a challenge.

And now here’s this young woman, with blond hair and bright eyes, and a smile that’s too innocent for the life she’s leading, telling Cat she wants to fill her up.

“And how will you do that?” Cat asks.

Keira hasn’t removed anymore clothing. She still stands there in her yellow bra and opened shirt. “I can’t know that until I touch you. I have to learn you first.”

Cat throbs and barely keeps herself from making a sound, but it must show in her eyes because Keira walks closer until Cat can feel the open shirt graze against her.

“May I kiss you here?” Keira asks, fingers hovering just over the pulse point on Cat’s neck.

Cat wants to say no. Because she pegged this woman as not worth her time, and one of Cat’s favorite things to be is right. But the one person Cat never lies to is herself, and she needs what Keira is offering more than she needs to be right tonight.

“Yes,” Cat whispers.

Keira leans in slowly. The distance to Cat’s neck is a lifetime counted in seconds. The first touch is soft. More abstract than actual pressure. The second is firmer. A brush stroke meant to lay the foundation and provide an outline of what’s to come. The third adds the soft glide of Keira’s tongue. The fourth, the pressure of her lips sucking gently and Cat gasping loudly.

“May I continue, Miss Grant?”

Cat nods because she doesn’t trust her voice to come out without sounding breathless and needy. When Keira descends on her neck again, replacing the softness with bruising intensity, Cat releases a deep and wet reservoir of need that steals her breath. Keira presses her up against the wall length window and drinks from Cat’s neck like she’s suffered through years of drought. Cat can only grasp onto her shoulders and squeeze her fingers in rhythm with the movements of Keira’s mouth.

They stay that way, suspended in the push and pull of lips against tender flesh, until the only thing holding Cat’s desperation at bay is her pride. She is so wet. And so swollen. And so ready to grab Keira’s hands and place them where she needs them to be.

No sooner than the thought enters Cat’s mind, does Keira pull away completely and leave Cat breathing heavily in the otherwise silent room.

Keira buttons up her shirt. The yellow bra slowly disappears from view. She tucks her shirt back in and looks the picture of innocence once again.

“If you touch yourself, I’ll know, and I won’t come back when you call.” And with that, Keira walks out.

Cat stands at the window dripping and breathing heavily for long after the door to her suite clicks shut.

Her thoughts cycle between fury and desire.

How dare she?

Who does she think she is?

Cat Grant doesn’t get denied. Not in business. Not in life. Certainly not in bed.

_If you touch yourself, I’ll know._

The words repeat in Cat’s mind, and she clenches with each of them.

It’s unbearable.

She unbuckles her belt, unzips her pants, and lays down on the massive California King in the center of the room. She slides her hand down her stomach and inches her fingers closer to her heat until the tips are coated with wetness.

_If you touch yourself, I’ll know._

Cat’s breath hitches in her throat, her fingers stop moving, and her soaked center remains just out of reach.

Cat does not enjoy games, but she does relish a challenge. And Keira has issued her one in explicit detail.

Cat accepts.


	2. Two

The next day is like every other day for Cat. She’s amazing, and others fail to keep up. 

The difference, of course, is that at the most inopportune moments, she gets flashes of a yellow bra and a seemingly cavalier order that held a hint of steel. It leaves her agitated, and aggravated, and deeply aroused. 

It leaves everyone else running for cover.

It’s late now, and the sun has all but disappeared. No one dared linger after their work was done, so the building is finally quiet. Cat sits in her office waiting for a meeting that signals the next step in the evolution of Catherine Grant. 

In six years, her son will be away at college, and Cat will be left with an empty nest. Carter’s summer at NASA is a preview of when he finally goes off to lead his own life, and Cat is determined not be blindsided by the deep emptiness his absence brings again. 

This meeting with Lucy Lane is the first step in her plan.

She doesn’t stand when Lucy walks in. The only movement, in fact, is the lift of one sculpted eyebrow as she takes in Lucy’s black boots, black skinny jeans, and black tee. While she is wearing a Bainbridge and Rockaway satchel that Cat knows isn’t even on the market yet, the entire ensemble is incredibly casual for a meeting of this caliber. 

Unfazed, Lucy walks up to Cat’s desk, and says, “Before we begin, let’s get a few things straight. I don’t care what office you want to run for, my current job is getting presidents elected. And I don’t like wasting my time.”

“Have a seat,” Cat says, smirking at the speech. 

Lucy might be on everyone’s shortlist for best campaign manager in the country, but the only reason she won an invitation to Cat’s office is because she turned Maxwell Lord down without even taking a meeting.

Lucy gives a curt nod, sits down and pulls a small blue notebook and a pen out of her bag. “So,” she starts, “tell me everything that could potentially bite us in the ass.”

“Chronologically or by scale?”

Lucy looks up at that, a small smile appearing and disappearing before it has a chance to bloom. “Surprise me.”

“Last night I paid an escort for sex, but she only gave me a hickey.”

Lucy’s pen never makes it to paper.

“And I’m paying her again tonight to see what happens next.”

Lucy closes her notebook. “What service did you use?”

“The same one our current President uses.”

Lucy’s smile makes a brief reappearance before she stands. “You have until Sunday to get as many orgasms as you can. I’ll be back on Monday, and we’ll get to work.”

With that, Lucy leaves like Cat was the one interviewing for a job, and Cat is left to contemplate this new trend in her life of women issuing demands then making dramatic exits. 

****

Cat doesn’t bother going home after the meeting. She heads straight to her suite at The Peninsula, pours herself some bourbon, and gets lost in the stars. It comforts her to know that Carter sees the same ones. 

Cat takes a slow sip of her drink and the dark burn it carves into her throat is punctuated by a knock at the door. 

Cat pulls the door open and Keira stands on the other side wearing a tailored white shirt with tails that reach mid-thigh, a black tie that’s already a little loose, blue jeans that are sculpted to her body, and red boots that go up to her knees. Cat would be lying if she said her breath didn’t catch.

They stand there for a moment, silently regarding one another. “Did you touch yourself?” Keira asks.

“You tell me,” Cat challenges. 

Keira lasers her eyes up and down Cat’s body.

“Good girl,” she says and then walks into the room.

Cat doesn’t want to be affected by the praise. She tries to catch it with a lick of her lips, but it slides against her tongue and settles hot and thick and low in her belly. 

Keira takes a seat in one of the club chairs and motions for Cat to sit in the other.

Cat walks to the chair and lowers herself into the seat at a glacial pace. She’s determined to win something tonight, even if it’s only making Keira wait.

Once Cat is settled, bourbon in her hand forgotten as the moments slide by, Keira studies her. It’s not an ambivalent appraisal. Cat feels the young woman’s gaze as if it were direct sunlight in the middle of the desert. The heat of Keira’s stare burns through Cat’s clothing and skin until it burrows into her veins.

Slowly, Keira loosens her tie a little more, removes it from around her neck, and drops it on the floor. She unbuttons her shirt, slips it from her shoulders, and leaves it in a pool around her waist. 

Today’s bra is purple with white polka dots. It’s ridiculous. Cat doesn’t care. 

Slower still, Keira rises from the chair, walks over to Cat, then drops to her knees. She beckons Cat closer with one finger, and Cat slides forward until Keira is settled firmly between her legs. 

Keira places Cat’s hands on the armrests. “Don’t move, okay?” Her smile is disarmingly sweet and hopeful as she says it.

But Cat knows it’s not a request. The knowledge is a fire that licks across her skin.

Keira slides one finger down the buttons of Cat’s shirt before going back to the top and unbuttoning each one. 

She makes her way down, and down, and down, until Cat’s breathing is as heavy as Keira’s touch is light. 

When she finally gets to the waistband, Cat’s hips jut forward, seeking and demanding. Keira hasn’t even touched her skin, yet Cat is already overwhelmed. Already wet like no time has passed between last night’s encounter and tonights exploration. 

Keira stops.

Cat stops breathing. 

Just for a moment. 

Keira rubs her thumb back and forth over the exposed skin just above Cat’s waistband. The sensation splinters into tiny pieces and travels to all corners of Cat’s body.

“What do you do to people who don’t follow your rules, Miss Grant?

Cat considers not answering. Considers being stubborn just to regain some control. Making Keira give her exactly what she wants, what she needs. 

But that would be something less than winning, and that’s not who Cat Grant is.

“I fire them,” Cat says.

Keira tilts her head to the side, “Should I fire you, Miss Grant?”

“No one fires me.”

“Then what should your punishment be for not following the rules?”

Cat remembers how last night ended and wonders why she’s putting herself through this torture. Before her brain can come up with an answer, her mouth says, “Don’t let me come.”

Keira gives her the sweetest smile yet, and Cat knows she’s just walked right into a carefully laid trap. 

“Okay,” Keira says as she slides a finger under the strap of Cat’s bra. It’s black, barely there, and Cat didn’t realize she was dressing for this moment when she put it on this morning. 

One strap comes down, followed by the other before Keira unclasps the bra completely. Cat’s breasts fall free, fully exposed to the room’s cool air and Keira’s hot gaze.

“May I kiss you here?” she asks, thumb hovering over Cat’s right nipple. 

“Yes.” 

“Don’t move.” 

The first slide of Keira’s tongue across Cat’s nipple is like a wish just out of Cat’s reach. The only evidence it leaves behind is the catch of her breath. Keira moves to Cat’s other breast and licks a circle around her nipple, careful to keep away from the hardening peak. 

Back and forth and back and forth Keira goes, treating Cat’s breasts to feather light licks and nips, touching everywhere except where Cat’s needs her. 

She does this for an eternity. 

And Cat is trying desperately. 

Trying not to think about Keira’s lips and tongue ghosting over her breasts. Trying not to move. Trying not to formulate ways to ruin Keira’s career if she doesn’t put her nipple in her goddamn mouth already and suck.

And then it happens.

Keira descends on Cat’s nipple, now so hard, it’s straining painfully to meet Kiera’s lips halfway. But it’s not the dark, hot, wetness of Keira’s mouth that thrusts Cat to the edge; it’s the guttural moan that erupts from somewhere deep within Keira when she finally pulls Cat into her mouth and sucks. 

“Oh god,” Cat’s voice is barely a whisper, but it seems as loud as fireworks to her own ears. 

Keira swirls her tongue around Cat’s nipple and Cat feels it in every crevice of her sensitive skin. When Keira’s hand finds its way to Cat’s other nipple and creates an alternating rhythm to her lips, Cat thinks she might actually come. Her clit throbs so thunderously, so dangerously that Cat is shocked the forgotten glass of bourbon in her hand doesn’t shatter with the force of her effort to not fall over the edge.

Cat wants to tell her to stop, but that would be failure of another kind, and Cat Grant isn’t going to fail twice in one night. 

When Keira switches to the other breast and scrapes her teeth against Cat’s nipple, Cat realizes the battle is lost. It would be embarrassing if she weren’t so desperate for release.

So of course, that’s when Keira lets go with a wet pop and decadent lick of her lips.

Cat wants to cry, and curse, and fire someone immediately. 

Instead, she glares at Keira and breathes in deep gulps of air as the woman calmly puts on her shirt and tie.

When she’s fully dressed, she stands over Cat and gives her a bright smile. “You know the rule, right?”

Cat continues to glare, “Yes.”

Keira’s smile goes from bright to blinding, then she walks out.

Cat is left sitting in the club chair with painfully erect nipples, clenching at nothing, and underwear completely soaked through. 

She wants to scream and she wants to come and she wants to scream while she’s coming.

Instead, she downs the rest of her bourbon in one gulp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! It looks like Mondays will be my update day since I apparently like torturing Cat on Sunday nights. There's just the tiniest bit of plot creeping into this story. I'd love to know what you think about it.
> 
> Thanks for the comments, kudos, and bookmarks! I really appreciate it. The next chapter will either be early or late, since I have visitors coming into town. I'll try my best for early.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @ jhem211.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s World War 3 at CatCo. Cat actually fires an entire department before her coffee has a chance to cool. Then six additional people quit after lunch. She’s horrible. So horrible that she feels marginally bad about it at the end of the day and resolves to hire everyone back tomorrow. With slight raises. Maybe.

She only calms down when she gets a phone call from Carter, high on another day of hanging out with rocket scientists.

Did Cat know that the space shuttle Enterprise was supposed to be named Constitution, but Star Trek fans campaigned for a name change? Did she know that the first picture of Earth from the moon was taken in 1966 by Lunar Orbiter 1? Did she know that NASA used to have human computers and they were all girls?

His excitement is contagious, and Cat’s mood lifts with every word.

Carter has also made a friend. His name is Franklin, and it might be the most important thing Carter says throughout the entire conversation.

Carter has never been very good at making friends. Mostly, he takes after Cat in this way, but he’s also very shy, and most children are too cruel or just don’t want to be bothered with the effort. So Cat thinks Franklin must be pretty great, and Carter must be having the time of his life.

She’s incredibly happy for him. She really is. But she can’t shake the feeling that maybe he’s happier with a dad who works with astronauts than a mom who runs an empire.

Perhaps she should start a science magazine. One that’s actually fun for kids to read. Carter can be Editor-in-Chief. They can spend time together deciding what the features should be. They can go around the country interviewing the best scientific minds in America.

This might be the best idea she’s had all day. Cat sits at her desk and starts planning.

Which contacts can she reach out to? How can she connect with schools across the country and get kids to write the articles? Maybe she should add science scholarships for underserved communities.  
  
She gets so involved, she doesn’t realize the time as it slips by.

She was supposed to be at The Peninsula thirty minutes ago. Keira has probably come and gone, but Cat decides to make her way over there anyway. At the very least, the view from her suite is one of her favorites in the city.

When Cat arrives at her floor, a full hour late, Keira is waiting, leaning against her door.

“You’re still here.”

“Of course I’m here, Miss Grant.” Keira doesn’t bother to move, just continues to lounge against the door like it’s the most comfortable position on Earth.

Tonight’s outfit is…

Well, it makes Cat thirsty for the bourbon on the other side of the door.

It’s a blue and white checkered shirt dress that stops midway down Keira’s thighs, and it’s cinched at the waist with a yellow belt and paired off with red leather ankle boots.

It’s very Kansas chic. Cat is disgusted that she finds it so hot.

Keira continues to lean against the door as Cat walks closer.

“Why did you wait?”

“Because I know how much you need to come, so I figured whatever was keeping you must be super important.”

Something deep in Cat’s gut throbs at those words, and she decides she hates Keira and her ability to rev her from zero to one hundred with a sentence.

Cat slips the keycard into the door. It unlocks with a click, and Keira pushes it open with her back.

Once they’re inside, Cat heads straight to the bar, pours herself a drink and takes a burning sip. When she turns around, Keira has positioned one of the club chairs so that it sits at the foot of the bed.

“Have a seat,” she says.

There’s a moment when Cat wants to be defiant. She wants to tell Keira she’s had enough of being ordered around. She wants to remind Keira that she said she was going to fill her up, and yet, here she is, still empty and clenching at fingers that were never there.

But Cat Grant doesn’t like to lose, and the stakes seem impossibly high, so she walks to the chair and sits.

Keira sits just across from her at the foot of the bed, bare legs crossed, and hands splayed behind her on the mattress.

“You know the rules,” Keira says.

Yes, Cat knows the rules. She hates the fucking rules. And yet, here she is, ready to follow them for the third night in a row.

They both lounge in their respective seats and stare and stare and stare at one another. It takes long, stretched out moments held together by three days of pulsing desire for Cat to fully understand what’s happening.

Follow the rules.

_Don’t move._

_Don’t come._

Cat takes a slow visual journey of Keira’s body. Boots. Legs. Dress that’s just tight enough in all the right places. Chest that’s slightly flushed and moving up and down with breathes that are a little less than calm. Eyes that stare back, waiting for Cat to make her move.

“Take off your belt,” Cat demands.

Keira complies with a soft smile as she unbuckles her belt, slides it from around her waist, and drops it to the floor.

Cat wants to skip to the end of this story. To the part where her body is ravaged and limp with satisfaction.

But she knows.

She _knows_.

Even if this journey might actually kill her, it will be worth it.

“Unbutton your dress. Slowly,” Cat orders.

Keira takes her time, slipping each button from its home, one by one.

Keira’s bra is lacy, black, and half cup so that Keira’s breasts peak over the top like they want nothing more than to be set free.

Keira’s stomach looks like it’s been sketched from a painting, and Cat’s tongue aches to lick the outline of each muscle.

A few more buttons reveal Keira’s didn’t bother wearing anything else underneath her dress.

Once all the buttons are undone, Keira places her hands back onto the mattress and waits for further instruction.

What Cat really wants is for Keira to sit there. Just like that. With her breasts on the verge of falling free, with her chest rising up and down as her breath becomes more labored, with her cunt just within tasting distance of Cat’s tongue, while Cat slips her hands into her own waistband and finally gives her clit what it’s so desperate for.

It’s a battle.

Between what Cat wants and what she needs.

She wants to come. God, does she want to come.

But she needs to win.

“Unclasp your bra,” Cat says.

Keira does as she’s told.

“Pinch your nipples.”

Keira lifts her hands to nipples that are already hard, already straining into the room’s cool air and begging for contact. She does as she’s told. Just once. Just enough for her breath to catch.

“Again.”

Keira does it again. This time, Cat is rewarded with a moan that Keira tries to swallow.

“Rub them back and forth with your thumb. Don’t stop.”

Keira rubs her nipples. Over and over and over again. Until her eyes slip shut, and her bottom lip catches between her teeth.

The pressure between Cat’s legs builds and builds, but she can’t do anything about it. She can’t cross her legs to get a little relief, she can’t sip her bourbon to burn some of the desire away, she can’t even lick her lips because her mouth is too dry, every bit of moisture in her body making its way south.

“Lie down.”

Keira leans back, her dress falls to her sides.

“Spread your legs.”

Keira opens her legs, but it’s not enough for Cat.

“Put your feet on the bed.”

She lifts one leg, and then the other, until she’s open, bare, and glistening before Cat’s eyes.

“Now make yourself come,” Cat commands, voice low and desperate.

There’s a sound that Keira makes at the order; a gurgle that fights its way between her lips, straining for freedom.

Keira keeps one hand rubbing at her nipple as the other slides down her taught stomach until just barely touching neatly trimmed and thoroughly soaked, blonde curls.

It gives Cat a moment of pause. Surely, Keira can’t fake that, no matter how good she is. But that’s a thought for later because Cat’s mind derails as Keira slips one finger onto her clit and rubs small circles until Cat sees wetness glistening on Keira’s fingertip.

Cat’s never wanted to taste something so badly.

She just wants to push Keira’s hand away.

And lick.

“Don’t go inside,” Cat orders instead.

She’s so caught up in the movement of that single finger, she almost misses the way Keira’s hips jerk up at the command, her center already missing what it can’t have.

Keira adds another finger, and the circles alternate between small and large. Keira’s hips move up and down and up and own. The movement, slight at first, but the groove becomes deeper as Keira continues to work on her clit, and along her folds, until the song of her fingers drowning in wetness fill the room.

Cat can tell she’s getting close. The hand that was focused on her nipple moves to the bed, and Keira lifts herself up on one elbow and looks at Cat. Her movements become sloppy and uncoordinated, but her eyes don’t waver. Her rhythm is quickly lost in the pursuit of her orgasm.

It’s the hottest thing Cat has ever seen in her entire goddamn life.

Until Keira comes.

With a cry that seems to catch her off guard.

And her back bowing under the pressure of her release.

And her fingers slipping wetly against her clit riding waves of pleasure like she’s been waiting her whole life to drown just like this.

It’s magnificent. Like watching a master paint a work of art. The moment etches itself onto Cat’s skin and pierces something deep in her soul.

It’s silent except for Keira’s breathing, heavy and labored as she continues to rub barely there circles on her clit, riding out the aftershocks.

“Sit up,” Cat says, her voice unrecognizable to her own ears. She sounds like she’s been to war and only narrowly made it out alive.

Keira sits up, her chest flushed red, her fingers wet with come.

“Put your fingers in my mouth.”

It’s not what Cat meant to say.

She was going to say get dressed and get out.

Because she’s never not come so hard in her life, and she needs time to put the pieces of what that means together.

But Keira leans forward, and Cat opens her lips, and the first taste of Keira’s desire causes a tremble to roll from Cat’s toes all the way to her eyes as they flutter shut.

Cat curls her tongue around Keira’s two wet fingers. She licks Keira’s taste into her mouth, savoring every drop like it might be her last. When she feels a weight settling around her legs, she opens her eyes to find Keira straddling her.

Keira stares at her, unblinking, and Cat knows she’s waiting for a signal to stop. Cat doesn’t know if she could give that signal if her life depended on it. Instead, she opens her mouth wider and takes the rest of Keira’s fingers, while Keira slips her other hand back down to her clit.

Cat licks and sucks, and Keira rubs and slides. They’re so close, Cat can feel the ghost of Keira’s nipples as they sway up and down.

All Cat needs to do is let go of the armrests, then she can have her mouth full of Keira’s fingers and her hands full of Keira’s breasts.

She’s about to give up the fight and do just that when Keira pulls her fingers away. Cat feels the lost deep in her gut like a hollowed out cave that’s only just been discovered. She makes to follow them, but Keira’s fingers are replaced by her lips, and Keira’s body sinks into Cat until she can almost feel the back of the other woman’s hands as she starts rubbing her clit again.

The kiss should be scorching and filthy; a culmination of the game they’ve been playing for all these nights.

Instead, it’s soft.

And it’s sweet.

And it’s finally too much.

Cat comes.

Hard.

Right there.

Sitting fully clothed, and barely touched, in a hotel room club chair as a woman she doesn’t truly know kisses her like every kiss Cat’s had before now has been a lie.

When Kiera comes for a second time, it’s quiet, and she breathes it right into Cat’s mouth.

They sit there, breathing each other in, until Keira breaks the silence, “My name is Kara,” she whispers.

Kara.

Cat remembers reading that it’s smart to create a fake name that starts with the same first letter as your real name. She almost mentions it, still high from an orgasm she’s been chasing for days, still throbbing because it wasn’t nearly enough.

“Get out,” is what she says instead, her voice scratchy and thin.

She doesn’t know what this is.

With Keira or Kara or whatever her name is.

But she knows she can’t do it. She knows on Monday, when she meets with Lucy Lane again, her life will change and the evolution of Cat Grant has no room for this.

“Get out,” she says again, stronger this time.

Cat watches silently as Kara extricates herself from Cat’s lap, and for a brief moment, Cat thinks she sees a hint of hurt in her eyes, but the mask of Keira replaces it like it was never there.

Cat refuses to look away as the young woman buttons her dress back up and fixes her belt.

“I’m really sorry, Miss Grant.”

She means it. Cat can tell.

Cat is sorry too, because in another life, she would absolutely explore this.

But in this life, Cat Grant is going to be the first female President of the United States, and a kiss that Cat still feels tumbling through her veins is not going to get in her way.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That was not how I intended this chapter to end. This story has taken a turn on me, but I'm excited for what comes next. I hope you are too.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented and hit that kudos button. I really appreciate it! Let me know what you thought of the chapter and Cat bossing me around while I write.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was definitely not my intention to have 5 months between updates! For anyone still reading, thank you for sticking around. For everyone who has left comments, it's literally what gave me the motivation to get back to writing this. The chapter count has gone up to 6, and I'm hoping to keep it there, but my track record for that has been admittedly terrible. 
> 
> This chapter is light on the hotness index, but I promise to make it up to you. The next chapter is already written and just needs some polishing, so you won't have to wait that long to get it.

It’s not that she runs.

Cat Grant doesn’t run.

To be specific, it was a sprint. She can admit that because she doesn’t lie to herself. Not for long anyway.

She went straight from The Peninsula to the tarmac, and now she’s being accosted by the disgusting Houston humidity before the sun has even blinked itself fully awake.

The drive to Josh’s house is both shorter and longer than she needs it to be. The neighborhood he lives in is adorable. The streets are wide and tree lined, and if Cat squints hard enough she can picture BBQs, children playing, and fireworks on the Fourth of July.

It’s nauseatingly perfect. She can already see why Carter loves it here so much.

By the time she knocks on Josh’s front door, the sun is out, the heat seems to have doubled, and Cat has no idea what she’s going to say.

When the door opens, Josh is as he’s always been. Shaggy and blonde with earnest eyes that always get him what he wants, especially when he’s not trying. It’s how she ended up saying yes to everything from their first date to the engagement ring he dropped down the subway grates of the dirty New York City sidewalk he decided to propose on.

“I owe our son one hundred bucks,” he says.

“And why is that?” Cat asks, eyebrow raised and smirk in place out of habit more than anything else.

“He said you wouldn’t make it a week before you showed up. I gave you two.”

And it’s not that Cat’s smile slips, exactly; it’s just that Josh knows her better than anyone, which is why his smile becomes a bit lopsided to match her mood, “A little Irish in your coffee, then?”

Cat places her hand on his chest right where his heart beats, gives him a quick kiss on the cheek and walks inside.

“Carter’s still asleep, second door on the right. I’ll get the coffee started,” Josh says from behind her.

Cat barely looks at the house as she makes her way to Carter’s room. She’s sure it’s wonderful and charming, but she can’t get to her son fast enough.

Or she gets there too fast because before she knows it, she’s standing outside his door, hand on the knob, and slightly afraid to take another step.

She doesn’t know why. Carter will be happy to see her. She’s sure of it. And seeing him is always the best part of any of her days.

But she hesitates.

He’s going to ask what she’s doing here, and she doesn’t know what she’s going to say. So she hesitates. Only for a moment, though, because her desire to see him is greater than any fear she could ever harbor.

When she pushes the door open, the first thing she notices is the galaxy painted on the ceiling. It’s spray painted with inky blacks and blues, silvery whites, and bursts of orange and gold peeking out from distant places. Next, the mountain of books he’s managed to accumulate in a week that is too numerous to fit in the small bookcase against the wall, and a telescope that looks top of the line even to Cat’s untrained eye.

Carter is asleep on his stomach, covers kicked to the foot of the bed, hand dangling over the side, nearly brushing the floor.

She sighs. Carter is still Carter, her little boy even if he’s half a country away and nearly a teenager.

Cat is fully aware that the tears prickling her eyes are an overreaction.

Quietly, she sits down on the bed and gently brushes the hair from his eyes. He decided to grow it out before school ended and his bangs are nearly out of control. She checks his ends and wonders if she can convince him to get a trim while she’s in town.

“Did you come all the way here to play with my hair, mom,” Carter says, eyes still shut, and voice sleepy with warmth.

“Perhaps,” Cat’s smile is as bright as the sun she was cursing not that long ago.

“Cool.” And just like that, he’s back asleep.

Cat can’t help but chuckle. He definitely gets his love of sleep from Josh. She pulls the covers over him, runs her hands through his hair one more time, adds a kiss to his forehead for good measure, and leaves him to his dreams.

By the time she finds her way to the kitchen, there are two mugs steaming with delicious smelling coffee, and two slices of strawberry cheesecake sitting on the kitchen table.

“Are you serious?” Cat asks. “The sun’s barely up.”

“You know I don’t joke about cheesecake, love.”

Josh has been on a lifelong quest to find the best cheesecake on Earth. There’s a complicated ranking system and notebooks full of data. It’s utterly ridiculous. And how she ended up spending her thirtieth birthday in a stranger’s backyard in some swampy Louisiana town because Josh heard they sold ‘the best cheesecake in the south’ right from their back porch. As far as she knows, it still holds the number one spot.

“Have you ranked this one yet?” Cat asks as she takes a seat.

“Not yet.” He takes that as a cue to grab his notebook, pen, and camera.

Sometimes Cat can’t believe she had such a great love affair with such an enormous dork. Most times Cat believes she won’t fall in love again until she meets another one.

Cat takes a sip of her coffee. It’s Irish, just like he promised. By the time Josh is ready to actually eat the cheesecake, Cat is a quarter of the way through her coffee.

“First category is creaminess,” Josh says with all seriousness.

Cat takes a bite. It literally melts in her mouth and is absolutely divine.

They make it through three more categories: sweetness, fruit, and balance before Josh gets to the point.

“So why are you here, love?”

He’s called her that since the first time he told her he loved her and just never stopped. There’s no heat or desire attached to it now. Just the warmth of friendship bonded by trying really hard to make something work, failing admirably, and creating the most important thing in either of their lives in the process.

“I met someone,” Cat says. Josh’s smile is immediate and warm. “And I met with a campaign advisor because I’m considering a run for president since they let anyone do it now. “

Cat pauses and downs the rest of her coffee in one gulp. Josh grabs the bottle of Jameson from the cabinet and Cat notices his limp for the first time as he walks back and pours her a bit more.

“How was your near-death experience?” Cat asks.

“No white light, so I was kinda disappointed. Don’t change the subject,” he says. “Who’s this someone?”

“She’s an escort,” Cat says, after a heavy sigh and a bracing sip. “The person I met. Her name is Kara, she’s exceptional at orgasm denial, and when she finally let me come, I wished I knew everything about her.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Pursuing a relationship with an escort while running for political office is the height of the wrong kind of audacity.”

“I don’t have data to support this, but I’m pretty sure most of the men who have ever held office would disagree,” Josh says.

He has a point, but Cat Grant has never held herself to the standards of men.

“I can’t,” she says.

“Why not?”

Because becoming president will be the most difficult task of her life. Because the last time she felt this way was when she stared herself down in her bathroom mirror and set a course for building CatCo that only she believed in. Because proving people wrong is one of her favorite pastimes. Because she truly believes that when these next four years come crashing to an end, this country will need someone like her to right the ship.

She can’t jeopardize that for a date.

“You’d be an amazing president, Cat,” Josh says as if reading her mind.

“I know.”

“And this Kara would be the luckiest person in the world if you gave her shot.”

“I know that too,” Cat smirks.

Josh chuckles then alternately stares out the window and eats the rest of his cheesecake.

Cat stares at his profile, wondering if this is really why she came here. To hear the truth from one of the few people who’s not afraid to give it to her.

When he finally looks at her again, all that’s left of his cheesecake is crumbs and all that’s left in Cat’s mug is a sip or two. “You always want to have it all, Cat.”

“The last time I tried to have it all—“

“You got Carter,” Josh says. “Pretty worth the effort, I think.”

“Yes, but I didn’t get Adam.”

She remembers the night she told him about Adam. It was three months into her pregnancy, and she’d been picking terrible fights with him for two of them. Josh had finally had enough and begged her to tell him who she was really mad at.

_I’m going to fail at this again._

The words ripped from her throat against her will.

She told him everything.

He listened.

Wiped the tears from her face.

And told her the truth.

_You had one job. Give your son the best chance at the best possible life. That’s what you did, love. But if you keep carrying this guilt, the only thing you’re going to do now is pass it on to our kid._

He was right. He usually is. Cat maintains it’s one of his most annoying qualities.

“I don’t want to fail at this,” Cat says. “The stakes are too high.”

“Pressure is a privilege, Cat. You know that better than anyone.”

“Did you just quote Billie Jean King to me?”

“Yup,” Josh says unapologetically. “Listen. Life has taught you a lot over the years. If you really wanted to, you could put all that learning to use and figure out a way to make it work.”

“Seems like a lot of effort just to get to know someone.”

“When was the last time you met someone you actually wanted to get to know?”

It’s well known that Cat keeps her inner circle excruciatingly small. It’s a lesson she learned in the months after her father died when all the people who loved and admired him in life stood by while his wife and daughter lost everything except the clothes on their backs.

It’s the reason she told Kara to get out.

She remembers in explicit detail what she wanted to do after Kara made her come with a single kiss, the single question she wanted to ask…

_Who are you?_

The depth of Cat’s desire to know, rumbling upward from the pit of her stomach and ready to devour every detail this woman had to offer, was the clearest signal Cat’s ever received that once she knew, things would never be the same.

So she kicked her out and sprinted to Houston.

“At the very least, you won’t be cheating on your wife,” Josh continues, “so you’ll be better at it than any man who has ever tried it before.”

The loud laugh that explodes out of Cat and rattles against the kitchen walls is an unexpected release of pressure.

“Are you okay, Mom?” Carter asks as he walks into the kitchen.

It takes Cat a moment to catch her breath. “Yes. I’m fine, sweetheart,” she says as the last of her chuckles peter out.

Carter looks between his mom and dad before shrugging like the pre-teen he is. “Do you want to go see the USS Texas with us?”

Cat has no idea what that is. “Absolutely,” she says.

“Awesome. First, we have to try the cheesecake french toast at this new restaurant we discovered. Then battleships.” Carter says and Cat doesn’t know what she’s going to do about Kara, but she does know battleships and french toast are the next best thing to figuring it out.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Retrograde by James Blake.


End file.
